Demands of Children
by Tapioca
Summary: Little children are selfish and take without asking. After two thousand years, he was still a child.  IvanxYao
1. Chapter 1

DEMANDS OF CHILDREN

Chapter One

Disclaimer: I make no claim whatsoever on the ownership of these characters.

. . .

Time was irrelevent. It did not matter how much of an age difference they had. It did not matter how long it took; all that mattered was that he would make his southern neighbor belong to him. He would make Yao his.

Ever since he was a child, Ivan admired Yao. Long ago, when he had been under Mongol rule, he would always steal sidelong glances at Yao. The powerful Chinese nation had pretty much ignored him, but Ivan could not help but to look up to China. Yao was to epitome of grace. Everything Yao did, he excelled at. Yao could even make war seem like an art. Ivan felt that Yao's beauty was wasted on the Mongol's harsh, war-like lifestyle.

It wasn't until the beginning of the Qing Dynasty that Ivan began to realize exactly what his feelings were. China had always been the superior rolemodel for Russia. Slowly, those innocent moments were replaced by strange, confusing feelings. Russia sent several officials to try to open trade and communication. He tried to impress and gain China's respect. Ivan wanted his attention. He wanted to be important to him. Not only that, but Ivan wanted Yao for himself. Yao was not only a beautiful country, but he was an even more beautiful man. He wanted to make Yao writhe beneath him, begging for his touch, begging for his love.

What Ivan wanted, Ivan got.

. . .

Yao woke slowly, his eyes squinting to adjust to the bright light invading his dreamlessness. He stared up at the ceiling confused. High rafters gazed back down at him before his sight trailed down to the large window across from him. He instantly looked away again as direct sunlight blinded him. Where was he?

Yao was supposed to be in the northeastern regions of his country. his boss had him tour the country every summer to make sure all was well and in order. He belonged in China, but he could easily tell he was not. He was somewhere completely foreign. Yao rolled over and pulled the blankets up to his ears. He remembered why.

It had been the end of August 1904 and Yao was finishing the patrol of the North. He had walked into a bar for a drink. The sign outside had read Подсолнечни and was painted with big yellow sunflowers. Russian businesses up by the Northern border were uncommon but not unusual. He had thought nothing of it at the time. The keeper was polite and the alcohol was good. Yao had walked out with a smile on his face, but before he had gone far, he was pulled into a building. Someone tried to cover his face with a handkerchief. Yao could smell the chlorform and slapped the hand away, kicking the attacker in his vital regions. Strong arms closed around the Chinese man and held him in like a bird in an iron cage. Another man took the handkerchief and pressed the cloth over Yao's face.

However much later, Yao had woken up here. Wherever here was...

Sighing, he yanked off the blankets and slipped out of the huge bed. He looked around quietly. Whoever designed the room clearly took his tastes into account. It was richly decorated in shades of red and gold or was made from dark wood. The rug beneath his feet was woven in an oriental pattern, and the woodstove in the corner was crackling merrily. Yao walked over to the stove stumbling over the think rug. When he saw folded silk warming atop the stove, he realized he was only wearing white cotton underpants. He quickly put on the fine clothes laid out for him and tied his hair up with the velvet ribbon hanging from the wait around half-naked?

Yao noticed a door on the opposite wall and went over to it, jiggling the handle. It was locked. He was about to turn away when the door opened revealing a small maid on the other side. She smiled and bowed to Yao before speaking. "I apologize, I was not aware you were awake."

"No, it's not a problem. I just got up," he waved her off.

"Master Braginski is currently away on business, but he said to tell you that he will be back this evening."

"Ivan? I was abducted by a Russian?"

The small girl cringed at his sudden outburst but nodded. "There is breakfast in here if you will come in sir, please. Master Braginski said you liked to paint, so there are watercolours as well. Please let me know if there is anything else I can do for you."

Yao absently shook his head, too occupied by murderous thoughts. The lavish rooms were tainted by the fact he was here against his will. He frowned and sat down at the low table laden with food. Yao took the steaming cup of tea the girl poured for him. She wiped the bottom of the pot and set it on the table before leaving to go make his bed. To tell the truth, he wasn't very hungry, but he ate some of the foreign food as to not offend the poor girl. She seemed afraid of him and rightly so. Anyone who worked in the Russian household was bound to assume Ivan's guests would be cold as well.

After forcing down a little of the food, Yao glanced around to find the watercolours. He carried them over to a spot on the floor infront of another window. The morning sun warmed his back as he knelt over his work. His brush swept across the page slowly, as if through water. The page gradually took shape of a landscape. Yao missed his homeland's countryside. He missed being able to breathe in the fresh air and gaze out across a valley or the ocean. Here, he could only see a dead tundra from behind thick glass.

. . .

The morning passed quickly, and it was not long before Yao was brought his lunch. This time the girl left through the main room's door and locked it behind her. Yao chewed slowly trying to take up as much time as possible. With only the painting to work on, he would surely get bored. He could not believe the time had come when he actually depended on another country for survival. Without the promise of Ivan's company, he felt he would go insane.

Yao was finishing up the scene when the door unlocked a man came inside. Without looking up, he could tell it was Ivan. The cossack crossed the room in a few strides and stopped behind Yao. Ivan looked over his shoulder to see what he was doing and snatched it up, tearing it into little pieces. Yao gasped and spun around to glare up at him. "Hey! What are you doing?"

"What am _I_ doing? What are _you_ doing? What a rude guest you are Yao, thinking of another country while in another's home," Ivan laughed.

"I am not a guest, I was kidnapped. Thanks to you, I suppose."

Ivan only laughed again and picked Yao up by his waist and slung him over his shoulder. Yao's face flushed at the embarrassing fashion of transportation. He squirmed, trying to wiggle his away out of Ivan's grasp, but was defeated as Ivan jostled his shoulder causing Yao to jerk and slam his face into his back. Ignoring his protests, Ivan walked into the bedroom and set Yao on the edge of the bed. He grunted a "stay" before going over to the woodstove. Yao saw him flip the vent shut, cutting off the oxygen from the flames. Ivan looked back at him blankly, and he glared harder, eyebrows knitted tightly together. Ivan turned to the ominous window that dominated the wall and stretched from floor to ceiling. He unhooked the center panels and swung them outward. The glass brushed the tops of the bushes a story below them.

Satisfied the room was rapidly cooling down, Ivan returned to the side of the bed and gazed down at Yao. A little curious at Ivan's actions, he met his gaze and asked, "What was that for?"

"It is soon going to get very cold, my little Jao."

"I feel fine."

"Only because you have clothes on..."

Yao didn't get a chance to comprehend what he just said before he was pinned down on the fluffy mattress and his shirt unbuttoned. He yelped and desperately pushed against Ivan's hands. He was much smaller in build so the Russian easily overpowered him. It wasn't that he was weak, he was just...unprepared. That's right, unprepared.

Within seconds, his chest was completely bare. His cheeks were pink with embarrassment, but he blamed it on the cold. Without thinking ,Yao reached up and pulled his hair from its ribbon. He didn't know why he did that, he just did. Ivan paused momentarily to admire his delicious prize before moving down to slide off Yao's pants. By now, Yao knew it was useless to struggle. His underthings were ripped off unceremoniously and thrown out of his reach.

The cool air kissed his porcelain skin and sent shivers down his smiled wickedly and blew softly on his neck. Yao squeezed his eyes shut and bit his lip. Ivan pressed closer, but just far enough not to touch the rest of him. Yao felt Ivan lick his collarbone. The frozen air clung to the spot and Yao squirmed. He bit his lip even harder, rolling it between his teeth. He was stripped and exposed, but he still had his dignity. He would not let himself voice his discomfort. That would only encourage his attacker futher.

Unfortunately, Ivan could see right through him. Jerking forward, Ivan pressed his lips roughly against Yao's. His eyes snapped open and he tried to knee Ivan in the groin, but his legs were held together by the other man's. Extremely frustrated, he bit down on the intruding tongue. Ivan didn't mind in the least.

Though he could not see anything beyond the face infront of his, Yao could feel a hand snake its way up. He groaned and violently tossed his head to the side.

"Stop it, Ivan!" he panted.

To his utter surprise, Ivan stopped. He smirked as he withdrew, taking a few steps back. Yao sighed in relief, the pressure above him lifted. It took several minutes for his breathing to relax, eyes watching his breath freeze before him. Ivan stood staring at him the entire time. Not entirely okay with being watched, Yao swallowed and slowly sat up, propping himself up on his elbows.

"What do you want, Ivan?" he faced him with a renewed menace.

"I want you to beg me to touch you. I want you to fall for me so hard you can't remember your own name. I want to fuck you until I dislocate your hips, until you can't ever leave me. I want _you_, Jao."

He gulped. "No way in hell."

"Then I'll just have to keep you here until I wear you out."

He had nothing to say to that. He knew he didn't really have a choice in the matter as his life was was in the hands of the monster before him. Yao shuddered violently when a sudden wind came through the open window. Yao turned to look at the sky, the sun dipping into the horizon. The grey cloudless sky was outlined in a yellow glow. It made him sick to look at. Had he been home, the sunset would have been splendid. The sun peeking out from behind the mountains, rays reflecting off the water like shimmering coins. The whole country would have been bathed in gold, but here... Here it was a sick, dead, empty view. It made his heart ache.

The temperature inside had dropped drastically with the sun nearly gone, and Yao's relentless shivering was the only movement in the room. He did not want to speak or give in to Ivan, but he feared of freezing. He reached back to pull the blankets around him, but reluctantly let them drop when Ivan shook him head, smiling. In his current political standing with Russia, he didn't dare disobey. He could feel the eyes burning into him, memorizing the faint definition of his vulnerable body. He felt dirty, laying infront of a man with nothing on at all. It was extremely humiliating, and he knew that was the intent. He couldn't help but feel resentment and sheer hatred at the Russian for purposefully putting him through this.

"It's cold," he whispered, expression softening into a moue. Ivan just kept standing there with that petty, vicious smile on his face.

Amazing himself, Yao languidly stood up, not bothering to cover himself, and stepped up to Ivan with only one word...

"Please."

. . .

NOTES

"Подсолнечни" means sunflower in Russian.

The definition of "amaze" I used is its original form meaning 'alarm, terrify'.

I like my historical fiction to be historically accurate, but in this case, I modified the original events slightly to fit the story plot. In real life, the Russo-Japanese war was a conflict over the ownership of Manchuria and Korea. I had asked my history teacher about it and he had told me that Japan had kicked Russia out of China in 1905 because of the influence Russia had on China was not desirable. Obviously, this was not the case, but his take on the war inspired me for this story.


	2. Chapter 2

DEMANDS OF CHILDREN

Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I make no claim whatsoever on the ownership of these characters.

. . .

When Yao woke up the next morning, he lay for a while, staring blankly at the ceiling. Through the morning sunlight, he could peacefully watch dust mites float gracefully, serenely downward like tiny white feathers. He didn't want to get up; as much as he wished otherwise, the horrifying events of the previous evening mercilessly played over and over in his head. How clever that Ivan was, how keen, how sly, how cruel, humiliating him the way he had. Somehow, the man knew exactly how to triturate his barriers, to break him down.

_"Please."_

_Ivan's smile widened and opened his arms, beckoning Yao to come forward, who immediately ran into them like a small, motherless child. The top of Yao's head was given a chaste kiss, and he felt like he was in a haze, like he wasn't himself...it must have been the cold._

_He was detached for a moment as a coat was removed. He watched as each button, one by one, was slipped through its hole. Ivan took his time, seeming to enjoy teasing his captive. For every second he had to wait freezing his ass off, the stronger Yao's impatience got, the more his body began to disobey his head. He wanted to hate the man, to murder him, but his defiant body desired for his warmth. Without knowing, he had played into the Russian's scheme perfectly, his need for survival in the dangerously low temperature overpowering his personal bias._

_Completely undressed, Ivan took his hand and guided him back to the bed. He obediently climbed in, shaking from nerves, the cold, and from sheer terror. It was only natural that he be frightened. Because of their political tensions teetering on the edge, he could not afford to disobey Russia._

_Ivan slid in after him, wrapping his arms around the smaller man._

_The intimate way their bodies pressed together sent vivid colour to his cheeks. His companion's skin was like fire, melting the ice that had formed around his being. The heat was intoxicating, and, like a drug, he could not get enough of it. It was pathetically addicting._

_He buried his face in the crook of Ivan's neck, palms curled against his chest. His eyes closed, lids like velvet curtains lowering on the theatre stage, and he felt thick, protective arms close tighter around him, greedily luring him closer to the heat._

_He did not protest when a leg lifted, curling over his own; he could feel all of the man now, but it was all the more fire to fight the ice. He blatantly ignored the feeling of Ivan's member pressed against his stomach, he would deal. His limbs became heavy and his violent shivering eased, and he vaguely felt gentle circles massaging into his back before he succumbed to much desired sleep._

He would never admit it, but he had somewhat enjoyed the embrace. He was ashamed at how good it had felt, engulfed in arms, protected from the world.

...but to admit it would be to admit defeat.

. . .

"Oh! You're still in bed?"

Yao's attention snapped back to the present, to the low voice from the other side of the room. Ivan stood in the doorway, hand resting on the knob.

He blushed furiously, brows furrowing together, glaring with as much fierceness as he could muster. The startled expression on Ivan's face quickly turned into one of mild happiness. The Russian strode over the the side of the bed where he lay, taking a seat on the edge. Yao looked away, and when he looked back, a face stared back at him. He winced as his forehead was kissed, but it was too much for him when his loose hair was lovingly brushed away from his face with the back of a hand. He recoiled, attempting to scramble away, only succeeding in getting tangled in the mass of sheets.

Laughter burst forth from Ivan, who, bending over holding his stomach, found it immensely funny. Yao couldn't imagine why. He sat there, curious as hell until the sniggering stopped. Seeing the bewildered look on his face, violet eyes widened and an arm reached for his. In an unseemly manner, he was yanked towards Ivan, out from under the security and protection of the blankets. He yelped, it felt like his arm was going to be ripped from its socket.

He was a mess, bent like a fortune cookie with his upper body sprawled across the Russian's lap and his knees sticking awkwardly out from the sheets. He looked up at Ivan, scared. He could see a demonic glint in the cossack's eyes, a raw hunger. Ivan peered down at the visage below him, eyes lidded with lust; he reached up, gaze never breaking contact with his prey, and slowly, languidly slipped off his woolen muffler. He let it drop to the mattress.

Yao's eyes flickered, glancing at the movement, distracted for only a mere second before snapping back up to the face that haunted him. That serene, dangerously calm expression terrified him, shaking his soul. It was threatening yet strangely mystifying...

After what seemed like eternity, he slowly felt his fear pour, flee from him; he became lost in those eyes, mesmerized, and his body relaxed, relinquishing its hold on his limbs. Oh how he despised those eyes, those glassy spheres of syrupy violet, that tamed him. They mercilessly kept him placid and unmoving, as if he were in a trance. In the far, distant corners of his mind, he felt himself being lifted onto a lap, his legs maneuvered, wrapped around a waist. His wrists were bound, knotted together behind his back, but they were expertly tied, he could feel no strain.

Those eyes crinkled, ever so slightly, as pale lips turned up at the corners into a thin smile, like morning mist creeping over the moors. The veil over him broke with that faint shadow of movement, and he looked away. It was then that he realized what was happening, it was then that his position registered in his head. He gasped a little, constrained noise, and twisted his wrists. When struggled against, the bindings chafed his skin. He could definitely feel them now.

Ivan's large hands clamped around his waist and held him down. Yao blushed furiously, red up to his ears. It wasn't until he was picked up and gingerly placed upon the feathery pillows, that it dawned on him just how compromising his situation was. He had been straddling Ivan, exposing his naked, vulnerable self to him. He shuddered at how shameful it was, lying submissively in front of another man. The man who, having deposited his securely wrapped package on the bed, continued undressing.

He couldn't help but stare, couldn't take his eyes off of Ivan. The previous night he had not the chance to admire the flawless body, so unlike his own, in front of him. Now, he openly stared, soaking in the frozen beauty of the personification of Russian grace. His eyes followed the contours, the muscles, the defined lines that made up the man. He shook his head, turning away from Ivan; he took a deep breath, anger and despise rising up from his stomach like inky black smoke rising from a chimney. How dare he hypnotize me? How dare he restrain me like this...like some disobedient pet! He hated himself for finding the beast a beauty, hated himself for falling for the trap. He knew he couldn't resist, fight against the monster who now looked down at him as prey.

The mulberry-eyed demon descended upon him, a sadistic grin carved into his face. He was pinned under Ivan's overbearing frame. He struggled, thrashing from side to side, but he could not do much to free himself from the confines of this hell. His arms, trapped and bound, were of no use to him, and his legs would cause more harm than good at this point.

He squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth, breath ragged as two rough hands pressed on his chest, icy palms sending a great powerful throughout his body. He felt those long, slender fingers seek out his tiny peach buds. Eyes shot open as they were pinched, nails digging into sensitive skin. He whimpered and tossed him head away, the need of release great. A mouth was lowered onto a nipple, thick tongue running up to his collarbone. It lazily trailed back down again, back to its origin.

Ivan bit down, rolling tender flesh between his teeth. He played with the other, last two fingers rubbing tight circles around and around. Yao cried out, eyes moist and pathetic, reeling in pain. All his life, he had experienced only a single injury, a scar along his back from his brother's sword. Nothing more to harden his spirit, to developed defenses against this subtle torture.

To him, this was worse than his younger brother's betrayal...

. . .

Ivan snatched his outburst with his mouth, crushing a kiss into him. He was taken aback by the sudden exchange and gasped. His thin eyebrows scrunched together in a sharp incline, and butted his forehead into the other's, a loud crack resounding as the two skulls collided. Ivan reared back, hand to his head. Yao seized his chance and rolled to his left, not anticipating the end of the silken sheets. He fell hard, wincing in pain as skin collided with wood, and he lay there, stunned.

It was only a moment of brief respite before he saw, out of the corner of his eye, Ivan climb down and kneel on the hard floor, once again smiling like a lunatic and unfazed by his rebellion. Flat on his stomach, flushed cheeks smushed against the cool surface, Yao could not very well see what what Ivan was doing; but, as a leg swung over him, pressing him into the ground, he groaned, managing to call out a strangled "stop!"

His hair was yanked to the side, away from his neck, in such a way that a number of ebony strands came loose, falling softly beside him, now dead and detached. He could only wince as his hair was pulled, because, only seconds later, a hot wet mouth clamped onto his neck. It sucked and devoured, sharp teeth biting and scratching. He felt his skin grow raw the more it was abused, and he could feel a presence of great enormity nudging him from behind as if to announce itself. His mouth parted, salvia stretched like strands of thin spider thread, between his teeth; and eyes, threatened with tears again squeezed shut, as if to block out the nightmare.

He was panting hard, chest heaving in great, pained sighs; his whole body feverish, hot, and wanton. The savage kissed bestowed upon his flesh, once only mortifying and gruesome, now morphed into more intense, more passionate ones. Each lurid touch was like a black crow in a field, ravaging the land, leaving it barren and vulnerable.

Suddenly, without any warning, his legs were thrust apart; and he cried out, resembling a kitten thrown defenseless into cold waters. A hand reached under, latching onto him, fingers ruthlessly wrapping around his length. He jerked, terrified, as the hand stroked, kneaded, abraded, desperate to get him up...with no suck luck. How could I possibly feel aroused in such a distressing situation? I am not some subordinate concubine, steamed and ready to please and pleasure my master at his every whim!

Utterly unsatisfied with his efforts, Ivan changed course. Abandoning Yao's adamant shaft, he grabbed hold of his hips, sharp fingernails burrowing into tender, sensitive skin. and lifted him up, just high enough for hi to easily penetrate his little Chinese cosset. Yao's fingers curled, clenched into fists and he whimpered, aware of the immensity of Ivan's cock oh so slightly touching his entrance. Ivan forced his way in.

The Russian's length, secure in his most personal and intimate place, made him howl. A single tear escaped from his eye, trailing down his nose before breaking on the floor's waxy surface. It had only entered him a centimetre or two, but he could not take it, his willpower could only stretch so far. He felt violated, dirty, and he could not bear to fully accept Ivan like this, it would hurt too much, ruin too much.

This was rape! This was torture! This was blasphemy!

His eyes blurred, a second tear falling, then another, until droplets streamed constantly...until his was sobbing.

Wailing, he was pierced completely. He could not win. It was too late. He was hammered violently again and again, his insides screaming for an end to the misery. The pain was burning and every part of him Ivan reached, heat bloomed like scarlet florets. Vermilion seeped into his skin, cheeks aflame. He was terrified of himself as he, the victim of cruel, desecrating harassment, was starting to get pleasure from the ache, the agony, the burn of being torn apart from the inside.

Suicide was an option, rash and final as it was, but somehow he could not bring himself to acknowledge the idea. Sure, he was mortified beyond belief, but perhaps it was a delusion. Maybe he wasn't sick, but his reaction was only due to the constant provocation.

He knew in his heart, it was not true.

With a final, throaty groan, Ivan came inside him, sending waves of undesired pleasure up Yao's spine. He shook, somewhat relieved that Ivan had not continued, as he would have surely become hard, betraying his condition. A gentle kiss grazed his lower back as Ivan slowly pulled out of him. He sighed, exhaling greatly. His breath hitched when the head slid out. They lay there for several minutes, both exhausted, the smaller's silent sorrowing gradually evaporating into breathy exhalations. The floor creaked, and he rotated his head to see Ivan getting to his feet.

Ivan scooped him up and placed him back on the bed, releasing his hands from their bonds. He turned to leave, but Yao caught his arm. He looked over his shoulder. Yao's expression conveyed more than words could have, "When you sleep with someone, you don't just leave afterwards." Ivan smiled and climbed in next to him, pulling the discarded covers over them, up to his neck. Yao shifted away, but felt Ivan put his arm around his waist and drag him back; Yao was too tired to protest and yawned, curling his head under Ivan's chin. He allowed a tiny, content moan escape his chapped lips.

If Ivan heard it, he didn't say anything.

. . .

NOTES

Thank you thesaurus . com for providing me with thousands of synonyms every ten seconds :]

Hey, Jocelyn! I put in "recoiled" just for you, since you asked!


	3. Chapter 3

DEMANDS OF CHILDREN

Chapter Three

Disclaimer: I make no claim whatsoever on the ownership of these characters.

. . .

An earthquake? No, he wasn't visiting his little brother. . . he was "visiting" Ivan Braginski.

Yao rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. He lifted his head. Ah, it was just Ivan. The man had just jostled the bed getting up and was pulling on his trousers a few feet away. Yao watched him, sleepy eyes still sandy and pasty, until plum orchid eyes found his. He looked away and pulled the think blanket up to his ears.

"I'm sorry my little pet, I cannot entertain you today."

He snorted and squinted his eyes at the Russian before him. "Like I care."

Ivan smiled, "I'll be back late tonight," and then, after licking his lips he said, "Don't try to escape. You won't get far up here anyway."

Yao slid further into the mound of warm blankets, scowling. He resented his jumble emotions, the conflicting feelings. He despised Ivan for raping and manipulating him. But. . . in a way, he didn't mind. It felt good, he knew he was a masochist. Nevertheless, there was still that sting of being here against his will. Oh, how he yearned to go home, return to the fertile lands of China that beckoned him with the golden sun warming the fields and hilltops. Not like here. . . here it was cold, like the country was perpetually under a shadow of some giant tree. Maybe it was just his being from the South, but he loved warmth. Warmth that, regrettably, Ivan's body could give him.

That body that was coming to him now. That body that was leaning down, placing a gentle kiss upon his forehead. He felt heat rising to his cheeks, and he was grateful, for the silken sheets hid them.

Ivan left, but his presence lingered behind. Yao sighed, he should get up, get dressed, and find a way out of this Siberian cage. As he rose, he hissed, backside aching from last night's abuse. He swallowed the memory and went to pick up the discarded clothes that had been lying there from two days prior. When he had tied back his hair, he steppe out into the joint commonroom. He didn't expect the blonde maid to be there and neither did she, obvious by the two staring at eachother. She broke contact first, blushing profusely. "Forgive me. . . I assume you would still be in bed." When he didn't reply, she continued, "You have not had the, uh. . . the chance to eat yesterday. I hope you are feeling well enough to have some breakfast?"

Yao nodded, thoughts tumbling about in his head. A plan formed, he had found his escape.

His stomach frowned at the mention of food , and, satisfied that he was indeed hungry, the child bowed and turned to leave the room. Thinking quickly, Yao followed her the door and placed a hand on her shoulder. She jumped. "Excuse me, but do you think you could draw the curtains first?"

She hesitated before a small smile crept on her childlike face. As she passed him, he too smiled. She tied back the velvet curtains and made her way into the bedroom for the other window. Yao slipped his hair from its ribbon, instead tying it over the lock on the door. With any luck, the maid wouldn't notice.

He heard her footsteps and quickly knotted his ponytail with his own hair. It would hold for the moment. The maid returned and informed him that she would bring him something to eat. Yao crossed his fingers behind his back and grinned when she closed the door without seeing the ribbon. He pressed his ear to the cold wood and waited until retreating footsteps no longer echoed on the other side.

Eagerly, he opened the door and untied the ribbon, refastening it in his hair. He ran, bare feet slapping against old, polished wood. Soon he would be free!

He flew down stairs, glided over carpets, and made it to the first floor undetected. When he past a lean window, he came to a sudden halt a if he had smacked into a brick wall. He steppe back slowly and blinked; from here, he had a clear line of sight into a garden. . . or what was left of a garden. All that stood were dead, dry corpses of flower stalks, pathetic, premature sunflowers wilted in the cracked earth. Ivan was kneeling in front of a baby flower, breath like little white clouds. The look on his face was one of immense sadness, a desperate longing, a grievance over the inevitable. Yao was speechless and his throat constricted. He gently put a hand up to the glass, thumb brushing over the spot where Ivan sat many yards away.

With this one frame in the endless film of time, this single secret encounter, his mind was blank. It was swept clean, all dark thoughts of malice subsided. All he could think about was how morose Ivan looked out there.

Suddenly, Yao recalled a particular memory from centuries ago. He was much younger then, and Ivan was no more than a teen-ager, a young man emerging from adolescence. Yao had travelled north to pay a visit to his neighbor. His boss wanted to make sure Russia was no enemy, that, even after the split of the Mongol empire, they would remain on friendly terms. Yao had run into Ivan on the brink of springtime. He had smiled and taken the young country's gloved hands, placing a small silk satchel in his palms.

Sunflower seeds.

. . .

Now, gazing at the tall man in front of him, Yao once again felt that strange warmth one gets when looking at something adorable. He realize something that had not occurred to him the numerous times he questioned Ivan's motives.

Ivan was still a child. . . he had never quite grown up.

That's how he looked right now, with his dying garden, like a small child.

Terrified of being found out and afraid of what would happen if Ivan discovered his orders, Yao moved away from the window and continued down the corridor, quieter now, in search of a back door. All notions of fleeing had vanished, leaving him with only the desire to nurture. He would nurse those sickly blossoms back to life; he would help Ivan finally grown into the fine man he could be. It would not be easy, but the challenge only made him all the more determined.

When he found the exit that brought him outside the massive house and into the secluded garden, he looked around. He paused to scratch his head; he didn't know where to start looking for the things he would need to save the sunflowers. He sighed in discontent and looked to the sky. There was a line of dark trees, obviously not native to Russia, lining the side of the house similar to the ones below his window. The thin row conveniently hid him from anyone who would search from the second story. The window he had looked out of seemed to be the only one facing this direction on the ground floor. The top floor. . . well, he'd have to hope no one would think to look from up there.

The midmorning sun gently warmed his back as he bent over, weeding out the already dead flowers, the hopeless cases, and the sprouts that never had the chance to mature. By the time he was done thinning and clipping off dry leaves with his fingernails, the sun was high over his head. His stomach growled at him in hunger, but his determination not to go inside until the job was done overpowered his needs. He could last much longer than a day and a half without food. He'd done it before.

There were more than seventy stalks left standing when he was through, but he had no clue how many more he had started with. He sat back on his heels, taking a brief break, and tucked a piece of hair behind his ear. It had been years since he'd gotten down in the earth and worked in the sun. It sure was tiring.

Yao's hand stopped by his ear as he spotted a flower who's stem was snapped in half. It looked absolutely pitiful. Yao bit his lip and crawled over to it. He picked up a thin stick, plunged it into the soil, and joined the two together with his ribbon. There. Hopefully, the poor little thing would mend itself and grow straight.

After a few minutes looking up at the sky, hands fiddling with his frogs, he felt and urge. He sighed and stood up to go relieve himself behind one of the trees. While he was standing there, he was reminded how nothing could grow without nourishment. He finished up, rubbed his wrists, and went in search of the well he knew was around here somewhere.

When he found it, he took the rusty metal pail and dipped it into the cold water. His hands submerged, and he shivered. The water was freezing! Was there nothing in this goddamned country that was warm?

There was always. . .

He shook his head, blushing.

Yao shoved the thought away as quickly as it had come. He lugged the bucket back to his patients, water sloshing over the rim with every step. Back and forth, back and forth he went to and from the well. It took him a few hours to water everything, it was such a long trek and there were so many plants in need of care!

The sun was setting, slowly slipping into twilight. It got colder and darker faster in Russia than in China, as Yao was used to. He was tired and he yawned. He sunk to his knees and ran his fingers through his long, loose hair. Maybe he'd just take a short nap. Yes, that's it. He'd take a nap to replenish his energy and then he'd finish up before going inside. Besides, if he stayed here, he would be able to keep the broken sunflower warm.

Yao curled around the tall stalk, one arm inside his shirt, pressed against his heart to thaw. He tucked his knees as to not roll over and smush the other plants. He sighed and closed his eyes, the musty smell of the dark soil filling his nostrils. Oh, it smelt so good. . .

. . .

_"Where is he?" Ivan Bankruptcy bellowed, hands closing tight around a small throat. Blond hair brushed against his fingers as the young maid choked out a response. Disgusted, he let go and reached up, pulling on his hair._

_Gone! Gone was his little bird? How could it be so? It couldn't!_

_His servants had checked the entire estate thoroughly and Yao was nowhere to be seen. Wait. . . surely. . . no, he couldn't have._

_Ivan raced outside. There was one place nobody would think to look. Nobody thought to search outside because nobody would be dumb enough to go outside knowing how low temperatures got! Now he was worried, a twinge of guilt nagging at his heart. Surely Yao wasn't crazy enough to get lost out there, he could freeze to death! Russian nights frequently got below zero._

_"Oh, oh god" he whispered to himself, voice cracking as tears welled up in his eyes. Yes, his sweetheart was there, but was he dead? Ivan rushed over to the dark form curled around one of his sunflowers. He stopped, eyeing the hair tie wrapped around it, a pretty bow looking up at his._

_Oh, Yao. . . please tell me you didn't. You shouldn't have gone out here. You didn't need to do this._

_Ivan picked up the still body and pressed his ear to Yao's chest. Good, he was still breathing, but barely. He figured the Chinese man had stopped to rest and was dragged under from hypothermia._

_Oh, oh, oh. . ._

_He let the tears roll down his cheeks as he sat there, his darling in his arms, swaying back and forth as he cried. Oh, how stupid he was. He was supposed to take care of him, make him fall in love, not kill him! Sure Yao wasn't dead, but he knew he would be when Yao recovered. He must really hate him for leaving him like that this morning._

_but. . . the flowers?_

. . .

NOTE:

Okay so. . . please forgive me for taking like three weeks to do this. Usually I write during math and science, but we have been having tests and tests and goddamn fucking tests. But I finished it :D

Yao's frog: Frogs are those Chinese fabric loop button clasp things that hold their shirts together :]

Bankruptcy: Sorry, I just had to add this after my English teacher couldn't pronounce "Braginski" right. One of my friends had "made up" Ivan for a character sketch project, and our teacher kept saying Ivan Bankruptcy. lul.

Okay so. . . originally I hadn't planned on leaving Yao out in the cold, I had originally thought of him going back inside and falling asleep by the door waiting for Ivan to come home. But. . . obviously that didn't pan out.


	4. Chapter 4

DEMANDS OF CHILDREN

Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I make no claim whatsoever on the ownership of these characters.

+o+o+

It had been two days since he had ventured out doors, and Yao was stiff and creaky when he woke up some odd hour in the afternoon. His eyes slipped open, and he parted his cracked lips, running his tongue over them to soften the thirsty flesh. When he tried to move to lift himself onto his elbows, he fell back into the pillows, arms shaking. Something to the left of him moved and he looked over. Ivan. Had he been here all night?

"Good morning Ivan." The blonde head shot up and Ivan's expression became one of relief and mild surprise. Yao allowed a tiny smile to grace his pale face.

"Yao! You are awake, thank goodness," he paused and glanced out the window through an opening in the curtains, "but it is not the morning anymore."

"It isn't? How long was I asleep?"

"Two days. . ."

"I'm sorry."

"No, I am sorry, it isn't your fault at all. You shouldn't be the one apologizing," Ivan erupted, eyes watery and voice uncharacteristically concerned, and Yao reached out to stroke his hair, "I keep doing this to you, keep endangering you! I'm so sorry my little doll. . . . But I can't believe you would do something so stupid like falling asleep outside- no no no. . . it's all my fault. I'm sorry for not protecting you. I am supposed to be taking care of you, making you fall in love with me."

Yao was stunned into silence. His mouth refused to form words, throat refused to voice them. Those last words, one in particular, frightened him. For some reason, he was surprised even though he should have seen it coming. Ivan was a child yet. Of course he would say something like that so freely.

Nevertheless, Yao did not know how to react. he lay in silence. He looked away. "Well, uh. . . the flowers are alright yes?"

"Ja, they are perfect," Ivan smiled, that ridiculous grin that followed him like a shadow finally peeking out in genuinely. It was kind of cute. For a while, they just looked at each other. It was a comfortable silence, and soon Yao felt himself getting lost again in those hypnotic amethyst eyes. Gazing into them calmed him, slipping into a state of happy content.

After some time, Ivan took hold of his hand which Yao had forgotten still rested on Ivan's head. They broke contact and Ivan stood up, wincing as his knees cracked. Ivan still held his hand and almost forgot to let go. "I think you must be hungry. It has been four days since you've eaten."

Yao nodded and took his hand back, suddenly embarrassed. Ivan's smile dropped a hair, but kept up his cheery facade and leaned over the bed to kiss him quickly before leaving the room. Yao heard the low rumble of the Russian's voice murmur something to someone in the common room. It was probably the pretty little maid.

Soon, Ivan returned and brought with him a lacquer tray laden with steaming food. Chinese food. The small considerate gesture warmed his heart and brought out his appetite. He found he was ravishing. They sat and talked while he ate. Every once in a while, as he guessed Ivan hadn't eaten either, he picked up a little piece of chicken or vegetable and popped it in between Ivan's lips.

+o+o+

The next few weeks went on like this, sitting in each other's company and chatting like friends. They talked about everything from the upcoming winter storms to foreign ballet. When Ivan got impatient with him or when he had to work, Yao would sit by the window and paint, or he often read Russian novels. He missed his land and his siblings dearly, but he endured it and tried to be optimistic. Of course his country could prosper without him for a while and his brothers were old enough to fend for themselves. Nu Ying and Vie^.t will be taken care of.

Sometimes Ivan had to leave for days at a time and he would begin to worry. Every time though, his Russian boy would return to his side full of dim smiles, if not completely genuine.

Not once since the incident in the garden did Ivan try to take him. His hungry gaze seemed contained to sear into him only after his back was turned, and they only touched when their hands brushed reaching for the same korovka. It was driving him mad! Did Ivan not want him anymore? Now that he'd tasted him, was he no longer interested in him? A thousand questions loomed at the back of his mind, wrinkling his brow in lonely concern whenever he was alone. He knew he was being silly, but he couldn't help it. . . and god dammit! He hated to admit it, even to himself, but it had felt splendid. He was reminded of the fact that he enjoyed the pain and pleasure cocktail from his "rape" every time he changed, silently looking over his faded bruises.

One evening Ivan came to him disgruntled and looked as if he hadn't slept for days. He had brought with him a bottle of what Yao guessed was most likely vodka. It was not surprisingly half empty already. He watched as Ivan slumped to the ground next to him. He was offered a drink, but he hesitated before reaching out to grab the bottle. He took a deep swig and almost dropped the damn thing when fire roared down his throat.

He coughed and clutched his throat, handing back the bottle with a shaky hand. What was this shit Ivan was drinking? It sure as hell wasn't his usual vodka. Perhaps he had been so grumpy he mixed several strong liquors together without thinking. Just the mere thought of what lethal concoction had just passed down down his throat made his vision blur.

Lost in his own thoughts, Yao hadn't noticed Ivan down the remainder of the mystery alcohol and tug off his overbearing scarf. he always wore that thing, even when he visited in civilian clothes. It was Ivan's trademark and an adorable quirk. Yao was shaken from his trance as his companion's voice called out, a jumbled slur of incoherent russian pouring forth. the small maid stepped through the door, listened to a few words, if you could call them that, and left. She returned clutching a few more dark bottles of various substances to her chest. As the maid knelt down to place them near her master, Yao grabbed her wrist and pulled her towards him. He whispered, "Is it safe for him to drink all this? His blood. . ."

"He will be fine, master Bragniski has been in fouler moods," she smiled gently pulling her hand away. He nodded, still concerned. She left quietly.

Yao looked back to the giant beside him. He sighed and reached over to open one of the bottles. He gave it to Ivan before his lap was immediately occupied by a head of heather hair. Ivan rolled over, resting his head on him, cheek pressing up against his thigh. Yao gulped. So close.

He watched as time and time again alcohol sloshed mostly into Ivan's mouth. A few time it missed and splattered his silk pants. The man below him didn't seem to care as long as he would forget whatever had made him upset. A sudden urge came over him and compelled him to take another bottle, open it, and take a long drink himself. His cheeks flared and took more, keeping the stinging liquor in his mouth cavity. He bent his head down and took hold of Ivan's head in his hands. He kissed him. He kissed him, hot tongue sliding in, fire running down into Ivan's mouth. It was a strange kiss. As he drew back, he saw Ivan's face, eyes wide, expression completely sober.

Embarrassed at what he just did, Yao bit his lip and shoved Ivan off his lap. He jumped up, face scarlet to his ears. He had a slight problem he needed to take care of, no thanks to Ivan.

"Ivan, get out!"

"What?" the Russian slowly sat up rubbing his jaw, fingers brushing where their lips had touched.

"Out! You heard me!" with his sudden outburst came a swift kick to Ivan's shoulder. He couldn't stand to look at that face any longer. How dare he invade my thoughts like that, make me start to have feelings for him? How dare he be so damn sexy?

What. . . the hell did he just think?

He knew he was being ridiculous. When Ivan just sat there a little perturbed, he huffed and left the room himself. He practically ran to the bedroom, pulling the door shut behind him. He slumped to the floor and banged his head against the wall. He was aroused, and by the gods, he could never let Ivan find out. He still had some pride left. He angrily drove his heels into the wood floor and unbuttoned the front of his pants. They were too tight to begin with, but now it was torture. He sighed in relief as he was freed. Ooh. . .

He didn't wait any longer. Yao grabbed himself and started working. A moan that sounded eerily similar to "Ivan. . ." escaped his lips. He let it, too preoccupied to notice anything right now. He started to wrap his hand around to his back, but was abruptly interrupted as the door opened. Mother fucker! Horrified, he scrambled back and turned away from the door, tugging his shirt down in a sorry attempt to hide.

He heard a soft chuckle behind him, but he didn't look back. Why didn't the damn door have a lock? now Ivan had seen him in his weakest moment and was making fun of him.

"You want to sleep with me."

Yao shuddered and started thrashing his head from side to side, face bittersweet. His lips parted and his chest caved, a rough breath tearing from him. He closed his eyes, eyelashes fluttering. He needed to be alone right now. Ivan needed to leave.

But alas, it was not to be. He felt a hand on his shoulder gently, barely there. It was a ghost. Yao shivered at the touch. He curled over curtaining his teary face behind dark bangs. The hand slid up to his neck to thread through his hair bringing forth a strangled sigh. He leaned his head into it, the soft motion comforting. It didn't help his arousal any, but any touch was better than none. Yao was full of contradictions. He wanted Ivan; he didn't want to see him. He was angry at being kidnapped; he didn't want to leave. He hurt; he enjoyed it.

Ivan knelt down behind him and ran his fingers in his long hair again. This time, he brought his lips to the ebony and kissed it whispering into Yao's ear,

"You want to sleep with me so badly you can't stand it."

+o+o+

NOTES

Yes I am being cruel. No I did not plan on cutting it off there, but I had to sacrifice length for letting you know I wasn't dead. . .

I am sorry about the suuuuper late update, I have finals and projects and essays galore. Ill try to get the last chapter up sooner.

Anybody who gets where the last quote came from is awesome.

Nu Ying(flower girl...is what im told) is Taiwan's human name and Vie^.t(for vietnam...sorry english keyboard) is Vietnam's human name. It didn't make sense to call everyone else their names except them :]


End file.
